I have a dirty little secret. Well, if you know me at all it’s not really a secret, but it’s something I don’t like to talk about and will only flaunt in public when I’ve had a cocktail or two. Despite being a mom, a runner and the relative of far too many people with cancer to mention, I’m a smoker. A smoker who desperately wants to quit and who usually smokes only a cigarette or two at night after the kids have gone to bed, but a smoker nonetheless. It’s a brutal habit to break, although I’ve done it several times and for long stretches of time at that. I realize that I have to just shut up and do it. For the sake of my health, my girls, my running times and my general sense of well-being, quitting is everything.
The problem is that I enjoy smoking. I’m not one who can easily hide behind the fact that nicotine is one of the most addictive drugs. My biggest impediment to quitting isn’t the nicotine addiction. It’s that I will miss the act of smoking. It’s in part a social habit and in part a comforting crutch that has helped me through some tough spots. It’s become my go to place when I’m stressed or sad or lonely. Oh yeah, and finally tuning in to Mad Men this year didn’t help. It didn’t help at all. In other words, it’s going to take a pretty significant mind-shift to get me over the hump of quitting.
So why am I writing about this, you ask? Despite trying everything I can think of, the fear of never again being able to do this awful thing I love to do is what has kept me from putting out my cigarette for that last and final time. Perhaps you will send some good vibes my way that will lift me above the flow of negative thoughts and emotions that have kept me from reaching my goal. If my dad’s death, my brother’s death and the fear of dying myself haven’t done it, hell, I’ll try anything. Tips and suggestions are welcome.